time to gather round the festivus pole

The community had a Christmas dance last night. The music system was “tested” for just about the entire day. This was especially thrilling because the building the dance was in lays directly across the way from our house. Last night we danced inside this concrete building with three windows. Usually the community dance is in the kiosk because it is bigger and without, well, concrete, making the heat created by dancing less relevant. But there is fear of inviting an attack by armed actors by providing a very visible target and so this puts us inside the much more intimate concrete building.

Vallenato is, of course, the mainstay, mixed in with some regaton, guasca and occasional ranchero. It beats out a 2/4 rhythm and in between each verse is a solo accordion riff. Couples trace out small circles, then turn the other direction, her arms around his neck, his arms just below her hips. Some of the most entertaining men look away from their partner, towards the floor while not quite placing their hands on their partners’ back. This type of seeming disinterest is comical given the extreme closeness of the partners, definitely no room for the Holy Spirit. Kids ring the dance floor sitting in chairs, smaller kids on their laps. Earlier after the nightly posada reached its grand finale, the kids had their own dance party. A group of girls would go to the center of the floor (in front of the manger scene they all created with construction paper and palm fronds) and then some boys would spring up and grab a girl, creating a replica in miniature of the swinging hips and studly grace as couples dance hip-to-hip in oh-so-close rhythmic embrace. The moment the music stops, both parties look in the opposite direction, never at each other, and walk towards the nearest wall or exit.

This is my second such dance, although the first was in the cooler environs of the kiosk. Unfortunately, I created a bit of a legend for myself by somewhat keeping up with the energetic Norbey who pulled me onto the dance floor and proceeded to bounce around in such ways that I only matched by practically doing double-dutch jump roping hops. And I don’t know how to double-dutch. I wore, as did Mireille, a santa hat with my name on the white brim in green sparkle. I also had on a brown tank top that was wet under the armpits from my, em, bathing attempt just before we left the house. And wet pants. Everything else I could wear was hanging soaking wet on the line. The pants were only mildly wet. It has been raining for two days and nothing is dry. So I’m already damp from the hips down and on the sides of my torso. And I’m the sweatiest person you have ever met.

The moment Mireille and I approach the building, Norbey spots us, offers up his arms, leads us inside, twirls me into his arms and the crazy hop dance begins. But only for a second, as he actually calms down to dance the more restrained small circles of the vallenato. Of course, our hips are still moving wildly – in ways that my hips were just not born to move. My hips were born to body check girls on the soccer field or slam shut car doors, not to find rhythm in this constant 2/4 beat of music. What’s more, I’m on average 5 inches taller than most willing dance partners. This means that, due to the proximity required in such a dance, I am trying my hardest with each bounce not to knee the nice man in the crotch. This is infinitely challenging, especially when at times the nice man’s sombrero is poking me in the eye with every other bounce and breaking my concentration. And harder yet when the nice man is saying how much he likes tall gringos and how beautiful my eyes are. So the nice man has his hands on my wet hips and I have my knee in prime position to put him in a great deal of pain. Plus, while I can hang as the circle turns me to the right, I loose all sense of rhythm the moment we switch back to the left. Holy Zoolander! I’m not an ambi-turner. After about six dances in a row, each one increasingly sweaty, I ducked outside to the safety of obscurity. One of the older women allowed me to hide a little behind her and when the next dance began I am safe, at least for 4 minutes. We left the dance around 1 am, but the dance did not stop until 6:30 in the morning, an inescapable fact given the music bouncing through my on-again off-again attempt at sugar-plum fairy slumber.

This is not to say I didn’t thoroughly enjoy myself. Celebrations here in the community are joyous and well deserved.

Today, the sky remains covered in grey clouds. Mireille and I are worried about the obvious signs of global warming. It is supposed to be the hot, dry season right now. Folks have said that more rain will surely harm the cacao. And at home, my parents tell me there is no snow and it has been quite warm. But it is the birthday of the niño Jesus, so such worries can be saved for another day. Instead we are lucky to have a constant stream of visitors including the kiddies, who have caught on to our “come visit us and we’ll give you candy” trick of the day. It seems to be working.

For those of you that celebrate Christmas, I wish you a very merry day of renewal and relaxation and tasty treats. Someone find some snow (if it still exists) and build a snowman for me, ok?